


i don't know how to die yet (let me live)

by mondkind



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, despite the title nobody dies this is a happy one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22397407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondkind/pseuds/mondkind
Summary: “It’s funny,” Catra starts, “you’ve spent so long trying to make me come to you, be on your side, and, here I am. On your side. And I know this isn’t about us, but still. Who would’ve thought that some day Adora would finally give up on Catra.”And― and Adora looks almost sad. She furrows her brows and sighs, and Catra can almost feel that she fucked up.“I’m trying really hard not to do it.”
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 635





	i don't know how to die yet (let me live)

**Author's Note:**

> this was mostly inspired by sad catradora songs and my friend's beautiful [art](https://www.instagram.com/p/B7KYZBcgrcv/) i hope you like it ♡

> The setting sun looks terribly like blood.
> 
> The hovering swarm has nothing to forgive.
> 
> Your voice petitions the indifferent night:
> 
> "I don't know how to die yet. Let me live"
> 
> ― _a stranger’s mirror,_ marilyn hacker

When Catra opens her eyes, it feels like she’s dead. Well, she doesn’t know exactly what it feels to be dead but  _ this _ ― the numbness on her fingertips, the aching on her chest, eyelids too heavy to let her see the light, the knowledge that there are ghosts around her― it feels like being seven feet into the ground.

She hears something, blinks, turns her head with care. There’s this soft thing underneath her body, something brushing against her ears that she can’t really grasp. And then there’s a familiar smell on her nose and Catra’s vision is blurry but is not like she needs that to know it. She blinks once, twice, and little by little Adora’s figure gets clearer. Her golden hair is loose, strands brushing against her fingers. If she reaches her hand just a little bit, she can touch Adora’s nose.

Maybe it’s a dream, a simulation, one of Horde Prime’s sick games. Adora, after everything, wouldn’t be here, head on her bed, sleeping lightly with her hair down, even. Catra moves, taking in the room around her, finally. The soft thing underneath her head is a white pillow, matching the sheet under her body. Shelves with pots and books ornament the high pink walls along with other beds next to her. She hears some mumbling outside, weakly, and the whisper of her own name catches her attention. Something in the lines of  _ former Horde Lord, _ and then  _ Glimmer’s right hand. _

She’s in Bright Moon, then. And Adora is really here, right now.

So she closes her eyes, tries to relax her head in the pillow as she feels every wound on her body begs her to give up. Her hands don’t brush against Adora’s face, and Adora doesn’t wake up. When she falls asleep again, she can almost believe that she felt Adora move.

(Catra doesn’t open her eyes to check― she doesn’t see Adora waking up, wide blue eyes on her. When she gains consciousness again, Adora is no longer there.)

* * *

Catra ends up waking up four times. Some are just a quick blink and she’s asleep again, vaguely hearing some conversation next to her. She thinks she hears Glimmer ―the angry high pitched has become kind of familiar now― and the archer boy. But, when she wakes up for good, limbs sore and numb, they’re already gone. Instead, she finds Scorpia sitting on a chair on the side of her bed, head lost in some book.

Scorpia doesn’t notice Catra until she clears her sore throat.

“ _ Oh _ ”, Scorpia says, closing her book. “You shouldn’t be talking.”

It’s caring, really, the way Scorpia is looking at her and checking her temperature, and Catra wants to scream, but she can’t. She’s already struggling to speak, but maybe it’s for the best― maybe it’s a sign that all the apologies in the world would never be enough for her to make up with Scorpia. But still, Scorpia smiles, eyes almost closing, looking at her and she looks almost relieved.

“It’s so,  _ so  _ good to see you wake up, finally”, she moves around the chair, “Oh, man, I was really worried, and then Castaspella didn’t know if you would wake up for real and then―”

“Scorpia”, Catra says, tries, but her voice is low and hoarse and she is so, so tired. “Who’s Castaspella?”

“Glimmer’s aunt.”

Catra looks at her.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“I didn’t either”, she laughs, “But, apparently, Castaspella is her father’s sister. Oh, Micah is here too. Oh, man, you got a lot to catch up on.”

Catra’s mind goes back to the ship―dark, cold, and quiet until Glimmer started talking. She thinks about the words they shared, back then, about Shadow Weaver, Adora, and Etheria, the desperation and grief on Glimmer‘s voice when talking about her dad. And, apparently, he’s here now and―and Catra can see, really see everyone outside partying and she knows she’s not in the picture, not when they both needed an alliance to survive the ship and that only. 

She blocks these thoughts, turning back to Scorpia.

“I― I never thought you would be willing to talk to me again.” She tries to sit, but the pain in her stomach is too much. “After the things that I told you.”

Scorpia stops, hands open on her lap. Catra feels like she’s going to be sick.

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

Scorpia breathes. “I was really upset, Wildcat. And then we had no information on you, we thought you had run away. And  _ then  _ we found out about Horde Prime’s ship and Double Trouble told us you were with Glimmer… And she told us about what you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Catra swallows. “We both know you could have run away, you could have allied with Horde Prime. But you  _ didn’t _ .”

_ We both know this was never what you really wanted. _

“Yeah.”

Scorpia smiles lightly.

“ _ Yeah,  _ indeed. I wasn’t expecting this after everything.”

Catra’s head hurts, spinning and she can’t quite control it. It’s been weeks since Scorpia left, since she jumped in the light for Horde Prime’s ship, but she’s here in Bright Moon now and it  _ hurts _ , so,  _ so _ much.

“How are you feeling, though?”

Catra pauses, feeling her own stomach, and flinches,

“It still hurts, but I’m okay to leave now. I just need a few minutes.”

Another pause, then, in which Scorpia looks at her, blinks.

“You’re not leaving. The princesses are here to talk to you. The Alliance, in fact.”

“ _ Why  _ would the alliance want to talk to me now?” 

“I’m not  _ supposed  _ to tell you this, but they think you would be a good fit.”

Catra widens her eyes and she almost regrets talking with Glimmer in the ship. “I suppose this was Sparkles idea? Well, maybe you two would vouch for me, but there are other princesses. It’s a dead end.”

“But you got She Ra on your side. I mean, Adora, since She Ra doesn’t exist anymore.”

This leaves a question mark in her head but Catra doesn't question―she’s too tired to do it. Instead, she pretends she didn’t hear Adora’s name, not when she doesn’t know how she will act around her, if it was really her on her bed on if it was one of Catra’s distorted dreams.

It hurts to even say it.

“Well, she’s not here now, is she?”

But―here’s the thing: Scorpia looks genuinely confused. She tilts her head, furrows her eyebrows, and, when she speaks, she seems careful with her words.

“Catra”, she starts, “You were hurt when they went to rescue you, right?” She nods. “So, your wounds were pretty deep and you stayed asleep for three days. Castaspella was the one that healed you, but it seemed like she would  _ die _ trying. Without the sword, there wasn’t much she could do, so Castaspella did the whole thing and she stayed here the whole time. In fact, Castaspella was the only one that Adora let get close to you. She stayed by your side  _ all  _ the time. I don’t think she even slept.”

Catra closes her eyes, thinks about the blonde strands covering her face. She didn’t see Adora’s face, but she could almost feel the tension in her shoulders back in that moment. When she opens her mouth to speak, Scorpia stops her.

“You don’t have to say anything, take it easy, okay? You took it pretty hard.”

Scorpia leans in, ruffling her hair, and leaves. Catra’s eyes close the moment she hears the door closing and she falls asleep without even trying.

And, if she dreams about Adora, nobody needs to know.

* * *

The meeting is, well,  _ a disaster. _

Catra is only alone for a few minutes until the woman named Castaspella comes back, then Scorpia, checking after her, and, when Glimmer shows at the door, fidgeting with her fingers, she already knows what she’s about to endure. 

The princesses are a pain in the ass, she concludes. There’s a small one that keeps mimicking Glimmer’s every move, the Salineas one that seems that she would rather be anyplace else and the green one that almost spits flowers. Entrapta it’s not there and Catra’s not sure how she feels about that. Relieved, yes, but, at the back of her head, her mind keeps wandering to the last time she saw Entrapta―no, the last time Entrapta saw  _ her _ , taser in hand and angry eyes looking at her.

She shakes her head, ignoring the thought― she  _ can’t  _ let herself think about it right now. 

Instead, she inhales and looks up.

All of the princesses say the same thing― that Catra can’t be trusted, not with her history, not with her being the second in command for all this time. Everyone in this table lost something because of the Horde, because of  _ Catra.  _ And, she knows that if Glimmer wasn’t on her side right now, there would be a knife on her throat without a doubt.

Adora, at the other end of the table, doesn’t look at her. No, she looks directly at Glimmer, only looking over at the princess quickly, never even turning her head. She looks sharp, stubborn, and ready to be the one with the knife and hands, and Catra’s head misses a beat. They’re here, after all this time, after Catra admitted her feelings to Glimmer on a ship miles away from Etheria, from everything, and Adora hates her. Adora, sitting at the other end of the table, almost facing her, and Catra wants to scream and break something, because she doesn’t want them on opposite sides, for once. 

But she keeps quiet, and Glimmer is the one to speak when the argument gets heated.

“ _ Catra  _ is the reason I’m here, right now. If it weren’t for her, I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“So what?”, says the blue haired one. Catra doesn’t care to remember her name. “She did it to save her own skin― that’s the only reason she ever does anything, anyway.”

“ _ Mermista,  _ you’re not  _ listening _ to me.”

“I think we should all take a deep breath―” The flower girl, now.

“I hear you loud and clear.” She pops her chin. “I just don’t have empathy for someone who destroyed my kingdom.”

“And ruined princess prom.” Catra stops herself from glaring at the Glimmer copycat.

Glimmer stands, placing her palms on the table.

“I don’t like that these things happened  _ either _ , but we have a common enemy now. We need all the help we can get, and we could really use a strategist. I’m not  _ asking. _ ”

Catra looks up and it hasn’t been so long, but she can recognize some traits of Glimmer’s behavior, now― the roughness in her voice, trying to sound older, more like a queen.

_ The one Catra got killed. _

She scratches that. 

“How do you know that she won’t change sides in the midst of it?”

“Because I could’ve done that  _ ages _ ago, and I didn’t.”

The room goes quiet. Mermista raises her eyebrows and Scorpia hugs her tail close to her body. Catra ignores the blue pair of icy eyes that look at her, inquiring, and goes on. 

“This is bigger than anything you’ve ever encountered before, bigger than your kingdom. You like it or not, we’re on the same side,  _ princess,  _ and you’re going to have to trust me. Sparkles here did.”

Glimmer exhales.

“I am ensuring that Catra is on our side, and I’m responsible for her in case anything happens. But,  _ again _ , it won’t and for that I’m sure.”

Catra won’t say she is with the Rebellion now, for moon’s sake, because she knows the Rebellion is not her place. But, right now, she’s on their side, and that’s everything that matters. 

Everyone gets up and leaves the room. Adora is the last one, eyes locked with Catra’s. And then, she gets up and leaves.

She doesn’t look back.

Catra doesn’t look away.

* * *

  
  


Catra ends up in the same room as Scorpia and Entrapta, sick and twisted as it is. But Entrapta is not there, and Scorpia is kind enough to leave her for some time alone. There are sleeping bags on the floor and flowers all over the place, enough for Catra to suppose that maybe there’s somebody else sleeping here, but she doesn’t ask. These days, there’s no much that she does, anyway.

There’s a pile of clothing on her bed, but the fabric is foreign to her touch. She sees black and red, and it reminds her too much of the Horde for the to wear it lightly. And then, it surfaces― maybe she will have to cross Scorpia on the list of people who know her.

(She crosses herself, too, but that she doesn’t say.)

She ignored the red and focus on the black. That, she can work with. She takes a black pair of leggings and some dark blue shirt that was there, too. The gray cape that hangs off her shoulder since she got to Horde Prime’s ship lays easily in a pile at her foot now, along with her other clothing. She pushes the leggings past her legs, then the blue shirt ― tighter than usual, softer, and she almost wants to strip herself of her own skin. But she ignores it, picks the gray fabric from the floor, and turns to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Catra’s avoided it for so long, she thinks. She’s ignored it and passed by and squeezed her eyes shut at the tears surfacing from the corner of her eyes as she didn’t recognize the person staring at her. Here, without her horde issued uniform, in a Bright Moon room, for moon’s sake, she wants to break the mirror and slice herself within the sharps. She wants to go back, hide, run, anything that will avoid it. But she can’t. So she looks away, covers the mirror, and goes out in the halls, looking for Scorpia.

By the end of the day, she only talked to Scorpia and Glimmer and the halls seem to whisper her name and she doesn’t sleep. 

By the end of the week, the halls start getting familiar and she doesn’t get lost in it anymore. Still, she feels like she’s in a maze, praying that she doesn’t find Adora in any of these corridors. 

(She doesn’t.)

* * *

Catra learns quickly that there isn’t a sword anymore. The blade that turned her against Adora turned into sharps that cut deep. Adora isn’t She Ra anymore, and Catra can’t quite grasp who she is―she sees Adora, sometimes, in the halls, but they avoid each other. Adora wears her hair down, now, and there’s no longer a red jacket on her shoulders. When they cross eyes in the dining room, Adora’s no longer shine like they used to. Catra can almost see how much Adora is carrying and it takes every fiber in her body to not reach out her hands and hold it for her. 

There isn’t a sword anymore, She Ra is gone, and, still, Adora is been more distant than ever. 

They haven’t talked. Yet, maybe.

Catra only hears Adora’s voice in war meetings and when she closes her eyes to sleep at night. Most of her days are spent in the war room, trying to come up with strategies along with Glimmer, Bow, and Micah. The other princesses still haven’t warmed up to her. She wishes she didn’t mind, really, but the urge to run away to a place where the ground welcomes her is still there.

She ignores it.

After two weeks, Adora talks directly to her. They’re talking about Horde plans from before, Catra explaining that she actually did most of it but there was still some lacking in her schemes. She talks about Salineas, and Plumeria, and Dryl. About Princess Prom, and all the mess that came after. 

She’s in the middle of explaining the Battle of Bright Moon when Adora interrupts.

“You’re forgetting about Mystacor.”

Catra blinks, taking a moment to answer.

“What about Mystacor?”

“Right before Princess Prom. Shadow Weaver went to Mystacor after me. I suppose you knew we were going there, at last.”

Her chest is aching now. Glimmer looks at her, at Micah and then at Adora. She remembers about the nights―or days, she doesn’t know― talking about Shadow Weaver to Glimmer. The hurt, the search for something, the aching in her body, the wondering if Shadow Weaver would have loved her if Adora had come after.  _ She would still have tried to pit you two against each other, _ Glimmer had said and Catra had agreed. And, now, she’s just tired.

“I didn’t have anything to do with Mystacor.” She breathes. “She told me not to get involved and did it all alone. Shadow Weaver went after you because she wanted the power you have, Adora.”

Adora’s jaw clenches, hardens, and she cuts deep into Catra’s chest.

“ _ Had. _ ”

Catra doesn’t correct her.  _ You’re more than a sword _ dies in her throat, along with everything she ever wanted to say to Adora, her Adora, but she’s not sure about anything anymore. 

But― Adora’s eyes move along the table and stop at Glimmer.

“Shadow Weaver says I can get it back if I let her help me.” 

And― it comes to her, again. That Shadow Weaver left her, fooled her, all for Adora and her greater power. That she was left with a Beast Island destiny and then a desert. Her hands start to shake and she retrieves them to her lap before anyone can see it but her. 

Catra doesn’t say anything, after that, and, when everyone is unable to finish another cohesive sentence, she leaves without looking back.

She almost thinks that Adora saw it, too.

* * *

She’s in Glimmer’s room, one night. Adora’s out on some mission along Bow and Micah is too entertained with the talking Horse to come here now. So, she lays on Glimmer’s couch near the window and stares at the sky full of white dots, now.  _ Stars. _

Glimmer sits at the end of the couch. 

“What you’re looking at?”

Catra bites the inside of her cheeks.

“These  _ things _ . They keep moving. I’m not used to it.”

Silence, as Glimmer takes one of her books and pretends to read it.

“You think they’re talking about us?” She doesn’t need to ask to know whom.

“I still can’t picture Adora talking about me to somebody else.”

“Oh, she did.” Glimmer laughs. “Multiple times.”

“Yeah, but that was before she hated me.”

“I don’t think she hates you.”

Catra sits up. “I don’t think Bow’s talking shit about you, either. He’s too much of a loverboy to do it.”

Glimmer props her head on her hands. 

“Would you do it differently? Would you not pull the switch, if it were to happen again?”

Well― she wonders. That’s not on the list of stuff they talked in the ship, but Catra is almost surprised it took so long for the question to surface. And, here, in a room with the last person she thought she would spill her heart to, she lets her shoulders fall. She doesn’t want to hate Adora, anymore. She doesn’t want Shadow Weaver’s words creeping into her mind no more than she wants to actually see the woman. She looks at the sky, and she wants to set free― she needs to.

“Things were rotten long before the portal happened, but―we joked sometimes, talked about seeing the world, but we never really had the courage, you know? If I could go back, really go back… I would have taken us to somewhere Shadow Weaver would never reach, you know.” She inhales. “But, yeah, I guess I wouldn’t have pulled that switch.”

Glimmer sighs and keeps quiet.

“We’re talking about them so they’re  _ definitely  _ talking about us,” Catra says.

“I really hope they forgive me, someday.”

“Yeah”, she says, “me too.”

* * *

Tonight, she wakes up with a scream stuck in her throat. She sits so quick that her vision darkens, blurs, her breathing too fast for her body to take it. She puts her hand on her chest, as if that would make it better, and tries to count her fingers, look around for anything familiar but here’s the thing― nothing here is familiar. The one thing, the one  _ constant  _ that was there for years is only a room away, but she’s not really there. And Catra is not sure if the space between them will ever not be there.

So she looks for the sky, for the highest place, and, before she knows, she’s out of the door, running, climbing, wind on her hair. This― this is the place nobody can reach for her. Instead, if she reaches her hand she feels as if she could touch the sky. That, if she stands in the tip of her toes she will touch a star and it will combust and take her with it. That, then, she will die, reborn, another life, another chance. 

But she’s trying to convince herself that this is not a solution, now. She  _ wants _ to, but she slowly recognizes the possibility that maybe she doesn’t have to die, to give up, to make that happen. She thinks about Glimmer, what she did, the pain that she felt after, hollow eyes on a dark cell. She thinks about Shadow Weaver’s hand on her, and she’s nauseous. All of the worlds, all of the sick and twisted mind games all of these years. Catra wants nothing more than to get  _ rid _ of it, once and for all. 

Maybe she can’t―maybe there will be a part of her that will always have pulled the switch, have hurt Adora, have caused so much destruction. Maybe there is a part of her that will always be a child of what Shadow Weaver despised so much.

But not now, not tonight, when Catra takes her headpiece off, furiously, fast, and it hurts her head, and she’s groaning, and next thing she knows the headpiece is on the floor, too far for her to see, but she knows she broke it and she can imagine its sharps on the garden. Not from the Horde, anymore. Not from the only place she knew her whole life― no, now she has seen the world, the universe. Now, there’s no going back.

Catra looks forward, staring at the stars.

* * *

“I like your new look,” Scorpia says, one day in the garden. Catra has her legs on the sun. 

“I didn’t do much,” she says, “but thanks.”

“It’s not that you’re― different?”

Catra considers. Looking at her, she can see the whole extension of Bright Moon’s lands, the Whispering Woods writhing in the distance. Trees so tall that she’s tempted, but that she doesn’t say.

“Is it good?”

Scorpia offers her a shy smile.

“Yeah, I think it is.”

* * *

After two weeks of war meetings, strategies, trying to talk to Entrapta, and sleeping next to a snoring Scorpia, Catra is tired. Entrapta didn’t really mind about her, but, again, she and Bow have been trying to get their spaceship to work again for some time now― apparently, they were able to make it work to look for Glimmer and Catra, but, now, without She Ra, they’re hopeless. Catra sees Adora, sometimes, from afar,  _ trying. _ She’s seen Adora meditate, train, fight, and she’s sure she heard Adora’s scream one of these nights. She’s almost crumbling, and Catra’s heart fails to beat.

Glimmer spends most of her days trying to get in touch with Horde Prime, preparing the other kingdoms and researching as much as she can about the Heart of Etheria. It’s not much, not without the hologram, and, sometimes, she crumbles.

So, Catra learns that, even if she and Glimmer are kind of  _ friends _ now, she shares the slot with Adora. Adora, who, even still being furious with Glimmer, goes to sleep in her room today. And, here’s the thing― Catra didn’t  _ know.  _ Because Glimmer didn’t tell her and she doesn’t talk to Adora anymore. So, when she goes to Glimmer’s room, as usual, she stops at the door, hands in the air, because Glimmer’s not  _ alone _ .

“You seriously should talk to Catra.”

“I don’t know why you brought her in.”

“I didn’t  _ bring _ her in, just like that. She’s the reason I’m standing here right now.”

She doesn’t need a name.

“How could you forgive her after Angella?”

Silence. She can picture Adora, head in her hands, exasperated, and Glimmer, looking at her.

“How could you forgive me after I sided with Shadow Weaver?”

Catra’s forehead falls on the door.

She leaves― it’s enough, more than enough, and she should never have heard anything. She leaves, enters Scorpia’s room, and doesn’t talk about it when Scorpia questions it.

(She doesn’t stay long enough to hear the broken  _ I’m trying, but I don’t even know her anymore  _ that leaves Adora’s lips. She doesn’t hear the sob, she doesn’t see Glimmer and Adora hugging as Adora breaks down muttering that she’s trying, and trying, and trying.)

* * *

Catra ends up spending a lot of time in the library, these days. She tries to read as much as she can, absorb as much as her brain lets her. Sometimes, Micah will join her and she will find that she kind of likes him. But, most of the time, she’s alone, and she’s enjoying that in a good way now, almost. Her chest still aches all day, but, here, surrounded by stories and away from the world, it hurts a little bit less.

So she is surprised and out of reactions when she opens the library door and finds Adora trying to open one of the books George and Lance brought.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Adora looks up, quick, lips shut, and ignores Catra.

“Glimmer told me there was a key or something.”

“Well, I need it, so it’s going to have to open for me.”

“Oh, but that’s not how things work, are they?” Catra sounds almost amused and for a moment she can pretend they’re back on their bickering, but that ends as soon as Adora drops the book, looking at Catra.

Adora’s eyes could leave Catra to die in agony if that’s what Adora wanted.

“Why are you here, Catra?”

She tenses, arms still crossed, and leaned onto the door.

“I wanted to talk, I guess.”

“ _ Yeah, _ sure.”

“I’m serious, Adora.”

Adora crosses her arms, too. “Why now?”

“I wanted to talk to you since the day I arrived here but,” there’s no going back after that “heard you talking to Glimmer the other day.” 

She doesn’t ask what.

“Oh, so that’s what you do now?” Adora’s voice cut deep. “You’re not satisfied with being her right-hand man? Her  _ royal  _ counselor? You now have to eavesdrop our conversations?”

She knows it all too well. She sees the red circles around Adora’s eyes, the way her shoulders tenses every time someone mentions She Ra. She hears footsteps late in the night and she knows Adora is going to train until her hands bleed― and there’s nothing she can do about it. She knows Adora is desperately trying to make She Ra appear again. Catra knows so much, she thinks, and she’s still stepping on eggshells at all times. 

“I wasn’t―” She sighs, stops. Once, it was easy to talk to Adora. “I was just passing by and I heard my name.”

“I can only  _ imagine  _ why I can’t trust that.”

Catra leans off the door, finally, and crosses the library. But Adora tenses, so she stops, hands on an old armchair and sighs.

“Adora, I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“I don’t.”

Catra once thought that her mistake was believing people would be like Adora. When Double Trouble betrayed her, she thought that maybe her mistake was believing someone could see the ugly marks she carried and still embrace her as Adora did. But, now, seeing the way that Adora looks at her like they’re nothing but strangers, she second guesses that.

“I know you hate me, Adora. Trust me, I really do. But, if we’re going to win this thing, we need to be on the same side and able to  _ work  _ together. And we need to be able to  _ talk. _ ”

“Well, we are sharing the same space right now, aren’t we? I don’t see why you’re so worried.”

Catra clenches her jaw.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“You said it yourself, Catra.” She spits. “We have to be on the same side, but I don’t have to forgive you. There’s no reason for me to bump into you and chit chat, for moon’s sake.”

“You did sleep in the infirmary when I came, though.”

That’s it― that’s when Catra thinks she’s hit something, that maybe Adora’s eyes will soften, maybe her cheeks will blush and maybe she’s getting somewhere but― she should have known better.

Adora’s eyes harden.

“We’ve spent fifteen years side by side.” Her voice is low. “I thought you were going to die, Catra.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t.”

“And now?”

“Now things are different.” 

Adora makes her way through the room.

“It’s funny,” Catra starts, “you’ve spent so long trying to make me come to you, be on your side, and, here I am. On your side. And I  _ know  _ this isn’t about us, but  _ still.  _ Who would’ve thought that someday Adora would  _ finally  _ give up on Catra.”

And― and Adora looks almost sad. She furrows her brows and sighs, and Catra can almost feel that she fucked up.

“I’m trying really hard not to do it.”

The door shuts with a smash.

* * *

Catra doesn’t talk to Adora after the library. 

When they see each other on the corridors, she looks away, and Adora’s look lingers just a little bit more than it should. Catra pretends she doesn’t see it, and, when Scorpia asks, she just shrugs. Glimmer doesn’t ask, though, why they don’t look at each other as if they’re going for their necks, and Catra knows why. 

She wonders how much Adora’s changed. If she feels the same way about Shadow Weaver, if she even opened her eyes about what happened all the time in the Horde. She wonders if Adora looks up at the sky and wants to stay alive, to  _ be  _ alive, to be free. She wonders if there’s hope for them.

Sometimes, Glimmer will mention Shadow Weaver and Catra tenses. Quick, fast, she hopes no one notices it. She is reminded that the woman that rejected her all those years is here, in Bright Moon, trying to take Glimmer’s place, in a twisted garden. She hasn’t tried to talk to Catra, of  _ course.  _ And, if Catra sometimes wants to talk to her, she doesn’t mention it.

* * *

Bright Moon is, somehow, everything Catra always learned to hate. There’s too much sparkle, too many colors, laughs, candy, and glitter for her sake. But, as the days go by and she starts getting to know more about the castle, she almost tolerates it.

Her favorite place here is the library, but the gardenS come close to it. Tall trees rise from the ground, covering the morning sky as she looks up and the smell of real nature, not just pipes, and metal, is pleasing when it reaches her nose. Sometimes, she sees the flower girl ―Perfuma, she thinks ― meditating, Scorpia following her and opening her eyes while she’s supposed to be thinking about beaches and flowers. Today, however, Scorpia is side by side with Catra, walking around the gardens like there wasn’t a war raging on their door. 

Like walking around would save her butt, yeah.

Still, she does, listening to Scorpia talk about how much flower knowledge she has now, and how much her eating habits have improved.

“I never thought that there was real food outside what they gave us in the Horde.”

“Eh,” she shrugs, “there’s a lot of things outside the Horde, after all.”

Scorpia doesn’t reply.

They stop on the stone patio when Scorpia spots Perfuma. Catra however, is not looking at the flower princess. Instead, she looks at Adora, at the center, training clothes on, the stupid ponytail on top of her head, a sword that’s is not her own in her hands. Adora is sparring with one of the guards, blouse wet and stuck to her back since she seems to be doing all the work here. The guard doesn’t come close to having the same skills that Adora has, making the whole thing sloppy. When she manages to take the sword away from him, the blade falls close to Catra’s feet.

Catra steps ahead, but Adora doesn’t see, blade pointing at the guard. Everyone applauses, but she’s not satisfied. Instead, pulls her ponytail higher and goes back in position while the guard stands.

“Again,” she says.

And they go, again, and the whole thing is tragic, again. Adora is obviously tired and obviously not used to this new sword― Catra can see in Adora’s feet when she lunges. And the guy― the poor guy is not ready to all the rage Adora’s bringing. 

So, when the guy falls again, and Adora almost spits her words, Catra is tempted. But she remembers Adora leaving, not looking back, then, now, saying  _ I’m trying really hard not to _ , and she stops. This is not her place, anymore.

_ But _ ― Adora sees her, locks their eyes and her shoulders fall. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

Catra raises her chin.

__ “I would, but the view from here is not much appealing. You’re going in it all wrong.” 

Adora clenches her jaw. The patio, surrounded by princess and guards, goes silent. 

“You have suggestions, then.”

“First thing, this guy won’t do. He’s clearly not suited for it.” 

“And second?”

Catra steps forward, taking the sword from the guard’s hand and taking position in front of Adora.

“You’re too tense. Your movements are too rough. You need to lighten it, pay attention to the technical.”

“The fuck―”

“Oh, I see Sparkles taught you a few new words.” Catra laughs. “I’m going to go against you, fine with that?”

It’s only a moment of hesitation before Adora exhales, straightens her back and pulls her ponytail up, a firm grip with the sword in her hands.

Talking to Adora might not be easy but― and the thought alone leaves a bitter taste on Catra’s tongue― fighting her still is. Catra just knows how to move in order to follow Adora, to tire her out, to be the opponent that she needs right now. Their swords clash as they move around the courtyard, not missing a single step. It seems choreographed, almost, and Catra’s heart aches, but that’s not a feeling she can dwell on right now. Not when she needs to be light on her feet, fast, not willing to be caught by Adora.

_ Maybe, today, she is. _

It’s tempting, so she missteps on purpose― and, as if Adora didn’t know her, she lounges forward, and the bait is set. Catra twists her arm, careful as ever, as then Adora is against the fountain, the back of her knees on the marble, sword knocked out of her hand and on her shoes right now. Catra advances, and so Adora has her hands down, blade on her neck, and now it looks like a good fight.

She lifts the tip of the blade on Adora’s chin. Adora’s taller, but, with Catra’s new boots, it’s imperceptible. Adora’s breathing hard, now, eyes looking directed at Catra and― yes, that’s the Adora she knows, right here, right now, a spark in her eyes that she missed too much for her own good―like she’s not afraid to lose herself in order to regain control

Catra smiles and that’s all that it takes. It’s an opening and suddenly Adora is on top of the marble, sword in her hands, and Catra is struggling to keep up. She’s fast, yes, but Adora is determined, firm grip as the blade cuts through the air, whispers alongside the whole courtyard. It’s stupid, really, how Adora could ever think that she was over, that the Rebellion was over, when this is what is inside her all along― the ravenous desire for  _ fighting, defending,  _ making things right in a way that only Adora can. 

Adora is quicker like she only now remembered that she  _ knows  _ Catra, that this is the girl she used to play with, train with, kiss―

Adora knocks Catra’s sword out of her hand and Catra is left there, out of breath, hands on the stone underneath her as Adora looks satisfied, the blade facing her, and Adora has the nerve to  _ smirk,  _ but it doesn’t last. She drops her own sword, then, and offers a hand. And she is looking at Catra, directly at Catra, when Catra accepts it and stands up. It’s fast, hurried, but it’s the most tender way Adora and Catra have touched each other in a long, long time.

She lets out a shaky breath as Adora cocks a hip, sword already in hand again.

“Again?”

* * *

“Catra?”

She turns on her feet. At the end of the corridor, Glimmer walks lightly to her. It’s the rise of the morning, which means Glimmer’s shadow follows her until she stops in front of Catra ― somehow, it doesn’t put her at ease.

“Yeah?”

“Scorpia told me you were planning on coming.”

She sighs. Of course Scorpia did it, and of course she is worried, but, right now, Catra is annoyed. She doesn’t need to be followed― doesn’t want to, anyway.

“Well, there’s no way to avoid her forever. She  _ is _ part of the Rebellion now.”

Glimmer crosses her arms, brows furrowed.

“She’s  _ not  _ a member of the rebellion. The only reason she’s not in a cell right now is because we needed her skills, and that’s it.”

Catra’s ear flickers. She remembers the emptiness in her stomach when she heard that Shadow Weaver came back to Bright Moon ― for  _ Adora.  _ How it seemed like nothing she ever did, she ever accomplished, would ever matter to the woman that raised her. She wasn’t born with power, like Adora. She didn’t feel it in her hands when she woke up when she touched a sword. Things just didn’t light up for her. 

But― but she squeezes her eyes, trying to remember that Shadow Weaver was the one that made it difficult for her to even exist. Before everything, there was always Shadow Weaver’s voice telling her that she was no more than a nuisance. If anything it’s  _ her _ fault.

At least that’s what she tries to tell herself.

Glimmer looks at her, eyes soft. Then, she takes Catra’s hand on her own. “You don’t need to do it. Nobody’s asking you to do that.”

“I know. But I kind of feel I have to.” 

Glimmer’s eyes are sad, now, but Catra just squeezes her friend’s hand and turns back to the garden at the end of the corridor. Her hands shake, but at least Shadow Weaver won’t be the one to see it.

When she reaches the garden, her hands are steady on the doorknob. She steps in.

Shadow Weaver is near the fountain, one of her dead flowers in hand. She looks up, just a little bit, when she sees Catra.

“You’re still alive. I see you managed to make yourself useful to Horde Prime.” 

“Can’t say the same. You don’t seem to be doing much around here.”

Shadow Weaver almost laughs, her tone changing.

“Insolent as ever, I see.”

Catra exhales, straightening her back.

“Glimmer and Micah are talking about getting She Ra back. Rumor has it you can help them, but they need a solid plan before risking She Ra.”

She cuts the leaves of one of the flowers. “Thought you and Adora weren’t talking, but it seems as if I was fooled, doesn’t it?”

Catra blinks. Shadow Weaver looks at her, really looks at her behind that ugly mask, and, somehow, Catra is the one that sees. 

Of  _ course  _ she would make Catra’s life a living hell, of course she would try until her last breath to make Adora the successful one. She knew, and this is a fact, all the hard work Catra did back in the Horde. She knew it, she ignored it, and she molded Catra to be who she needed her to be to leave Adora behind.

Maybe Adora has given up on Catra now, but― but Catra knows that whatever sick and twisted game they played in the Fright Zone under Shadow Weaver commands is over now. They’re not kids anymore. They’re not even in the Horde anymore, for moon’s sake. They’re playing under their own rules now. Shadow Weaver doesn’t need to have power over them anymore.

She raises her chin. “You were.”

Shadow Weaver doesn’t answer, and Catra doesn’t engage. When she slams the door shut, her breathing is heavy but somehow― _ somehow _ , her heart is light.

* * *

At this point, the smell of Bright Moon’s library is familiar to Catra. It’s been five weeks, now ― five weeks of negotiations with Horde Prime, speculating his plans and trying to come up with something, trying to bring She Ra back. She Ra is not back and there hasn’t been much success in trying to restore the Rebellion, but Adora is not ignoring her anymore, so it’s less five weeks of that.

Now, they almost talk. Almost. 

Sometimes, Adora will come up to the library and Catra will be there, absorbed in some random book and Adora will not say anything, because she knows how Catra gets when she’s trying to pay attention. And, because Adora is just the same, sometimes, when she gets there first, Catra is quiet, reserved, and they coexist in silence. Other times, Adora will look up, open her mouth, and because of all the times they talked in unspoken words, Catra will meet her gaze― but Adora never says anything. No, she quickly looks down, as if nothing happened and then―

And then she looks at Catra when she thinks she’s being discreet, and her gaze will linger for just a little bit longer than it was supposed to.

(Catra will pretend she doesn’t see it, and Adora will pretend it’s not a big deal if she brings meals with her next time and leaves it there.)

It’s been five weeks since Catra landed on Bright Moon and she thinks that maybe, she gets it now. The hatred, the falling, the wanting to get back at Adora. She thinks that, maybe, it couldn’t have been any other way― they would fall apart, eventually, and ruin everything forever. But, here, now, she’s not the same girl she was when Adora didn’t come back, and Adora is not the same girl that picked up the sword. She’s a whole new deal, a whole new person, and that’s just for her. Even if she still doesn’t know how to do it right, even if she covered every mirror in her room because, some days, she can’t stand to look at herself.

It’s been five weeks in Bright Moon, and she’s trying.

* * *

It’s just after lunch and Catra is getting lost in the halls again. Not in a literal way, not when she’s finally starting to understand the castle. But she wanders, no intention of getting anywhere, while she knows there’s no duty for her right now. She stops when she hears something loud on her left― an  _ explosion _ ? An attack? Here, in an almost empty place? She goes in the corridor, stopping in front of the door, hands on the doorknob. It could be just Entrapta making some new junk. Still, she wonders.

So she goes for it. Entrapta is there, indeed. Her hair greets Catra. “Oh, hi, Catra!” 

Entrapta has her focus on some new tech spread on a big table in the center of the room. Catra looks at the high blue walls surrounded with armor and guns. This used to be an armory, but, now, it became Entrapta’s lab.

And Bow, on the other side of the table, looking up and greeting her with a nod. Oh, yeah, that’s right― he still hasn’t gotten used to her in the castle. She doesn’t blame him, though. Instead, she moves to stand side by side with Entrapta. The tech ―some crystals Catra almost recognizes― is paired with Bow’s arrows.

“What you got there?” she asks.oma

“We’re trying to maximize the damage the arrows can cause without compromising how much they can bear. They’re very thin,  _ but,  _ I think we’re doing amazing progress!”

Catra nods, humming. Her eyes trail Entrapta’s fingers working carefully to weld one of the arrows.

Bow raises his eyebrows, but Catra pretends she doesn’t notice that he’s wary of her. “We want to make a good attack at Horde Prime when we need to. We need everything we can get.”

Catra turns her head. “I don’t think you should be worried about a good attack. Prime is extremely powerful. The only way we have a chance against him is if we manage to defend ourselves first.”

Bow stops, hands mid-air. “Go on.”

“We’re gonna be outnumbered when we try something. We can’t waste all of our forces and weapons trying to attack when he’s gonna throw it all back to us. Especially if he’s going to after the Heart of Etheria.”

“She’s right.” Catra stops, breathes, and turns to see Adora standing on the door. She has her arms crossed, shoulders tight, but her eyes are soft when she scans the room, almost as if she didn’t see Catra there. And her words― surprisingly, it doesn’t cut right through Catra, now. She steps into the room, nodding. “Catra.”

And― and she can’t stop the bubble of hope that forms on her chest. “Hey, Adora.”

She thinks that she sees a glint of laughter in Adora’s eyes, but it goes as fast as it appeared. When she settles next to Entrapta, Catra can’t help but follow her moves with her eyes, and, then, distracted by the movements of Adora’s hand while talking to Bow, she sees the mirror on the corner of the room.  _ What is a mirror doing down here?  _ but she doesn’t ask. No, she’s focused on her reflection, on the girl that stares at her from the other side. She’s been noticing all this time that Adora’s tense, but she almost looks like she’s about to crumble all over the place― like her body couldn’t contain whatever she’s about to transform into. 

Her hair is longer now, wild like it used to be, before, and she almost grooms it, her hands stopping in the middle of it. She looks away, harsh, and again at the table, but she’s already too distracted to pay attention to whatever they’re discussing. 

She raises her head, fast. Somehow, the room seems to be smaller now, hotter. “I need some fresh air, but, yeah, this is a good idea.”

She doesn’t  _ know  _ if it’s a good idea or not, because she didn’t even hear anything, but her mind is going too fast right now for her to even process her own words. Bow looks up, Adora looks up, brows furrowed and she looks almost worried, like she could smell Catra’s lie, and Catra can’t do it right now. So, she turns around and leaves.

She can almost feel Adora’s gaze burning on her back when she closes the door.

* * *

Scorpia spends most nights in Perfuma’s room. Catra doesn’t question it, but she does playfully asks about Scorpia’s girlfriend when she has the chance, only to see Scorpia blush and stutter. It’s fun, easy, and light. They’re in a much better position now than they were when she first got here, and Catra’s chest almost aches from so much happiness. She thought Scorpia would never talk to her again, but here they are, sharing the room and Scorpia doesn’t even complain about Catra snoring. On the days that the air gets heavier, she can always come back here and find Scorpia.

Sometimes, she will even resist less than usual when Scorpia hugs her, and she thinks Scorpia knows it. 

But today is not an easy day, not after the mirror in the armory. And Scorpia is talking about spending some time with Perfuma and Frosta, again, and she looks so happy, that even when she notices Catra’s mood Catra tells her to go, still. Maybe, it’s best for her to spend some time alone. It’s always good these days, at least.

So she’s on the couch, a book open on her lap, when there’s a knock on the door. Glimmer doesn’t knock. So, maybe, one of the princesses looking for Scorpia? She lowers her book and raises her voice. “Scorpia isn’t here.”

The voice on the other side of the door is almost small. “I know. Can I come in?”

Catra exhales, getting up, barefoot on the cold marble, and opens the door to Adora’s wide eyes― she wasn’t expecting Catra to do it, then. Catra steps aside so Adora can enter the room, and, when she closes the door, Adora scans her figure. Silence spreads through the room as Catra tries to wrap her head around Adora, in her room, in _ Bright Moon _ , looking out of place and playing with her fingers.

“I saw Scorpia with Perfuma, and Frosta told me she was going to join them”, she says, “so I thought of coming here and talking to you.”

“Yeah, she said they’re having a sleepover, or something.”

“Yeah.” 

A pause.

“What you’re reading?”

Catra looks over her shoulder. “Bow gave me. It’s about ancient Etheria groups, but I’m not really into it yet.”

Adora plays with her shoes, settling to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Adora?”

“Yeah?”

“What you’re doing?”

That doesn’t get her an answer, not even when Catra dares to get closer, hips on the headboard. 

“Something seemed off in the armory. I wanted to check up on you.” 

She doesn’t look at Adora when she speaks. “Adora, you said―”

“I know what I said.  _ Please _ .”

Catra knows about the dark circles under her eyes. She knows about the way she tries to adjust her posture, her looks, to make it seem as if she’s got things in control― and, although she feels like she’s in a better place now, it’s still  _ hard.  _ And other people might not notice it right away, but this is Adora. Adora, who slept next to her every day until the way she defected. Adora, who kissed her wounds and her lips and her hands when things got difficult. Adora, who looks tired, now, shoulders down and eyes running around the room as she pleads.

She sighs, sitting on the bed. “I’m fine.”

Adora rolls her eyes. “You know that I  _ know  _ you’re lying.” 

And Catra hates Adora, just a little bit.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Adora lowers her head, hair covering her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, either. I just―” She bites her lips, exhales, and then raises her head again, eyes locked on Catra’s. “Your hair is really long.” 

Catra heart is beating fast, but, when Adora speaks, it seems to stop for a second. 

“What?”

“Your hair. You never really liked it long but she didn’t let you cut it.”  _ I was the one who did it,  _ she can almost imagine Adora saying it. But that doesn’t happen. “Is that what triggered you in the armory?”

“I guess.” she shrugs. “It reminds me of before.”

She doesn’t go further on that, and Adora doesn't ask. And, for instance, Catra is not  _ looking  _ at her, but she feels Adora’s gaze burning on her side and it makes her stomach writhes inside her belly, screaming for something she can’t  _ give.  _ She goes still as Adora reaches to her side and pulls a delicate dagger, a star carved on the grip. She removes the scabbard and looks at her reflex on the blade.

Adora’s voice is softer than it needed to be. “I can cut it, if you want me to.”

Catra doesn’t answer. Yes, she nods, standing up and finding a steady chair ― she doesn’t trust Bright Moon’s fuffy beds. She doesn’t ask for a mirror, either, and Adora doesn’t offer. They never did it using a mirror, anyway. And it’s― it’s  _ awkward _ , slow and punishing and it’s almost like they were different people, stuck in a stupid cosmic joke destined to set them apart. 

Adora’s hand don’t really touch her, at first. Maybe it’s because Catra has her muscles tensed, sharp breaths out of her mouth or maybe it truly is because they will never be okay as they were again. The thought alone forms a knot on her throat, but she fights it. 

“It’s okay,” it’s what leaves her mouth, “you can touch me― if you need the support.”

Maybe that’s an unfortunate position because Catra can’t see Adora’s reaction. She can only hear Adora’s muttered “ _ okay”,  _ and then feels her hair being combed softly by Adora’s fingers. She shivers, but maybe Adora didn’t notice it. 

“How short do you want it?”

She considers it, remembers of the fainted drawings on Bow’s books, remnants of people that no longer existed on Etheria’s vast lands, forgotten in history. She breathes― maybe one day, she will be able to talk about it, but, for now, she only relaxes her shoulders and declares it. “Above my shoulder.”

She hears the blade through her hair and then sees the strands on the floor. Adora goes around the cair, facing her, and her hands are delicate on lifting Catra’s chin. She cuts the strands on the front, lining up then with the back of Catra’s hair. Her eyes are soft and wide when she finishes it, stepping back to look at Catra.

“It looks good.” 

Catra looks up. The feeling is foreign to her by now― really seeing Adora, open, walls down, and being  _ seen  _ by her, wide eyes locked on hers. Adora doesn’t move. She seems to be waiting for something, anything, and Catra dares to think that maybe she’s thinking the same. Maybe she’s also struck by the nostalgia, the emptiness on her chest that begs for her to cross the space between them, take Adora on her arms, and never let her go ― or never go without her again. Her fingers itch, but she doesn’t move― doesn’t dare to go this far.

“Do you want to see it?”, Adora asks, breaking her gaze and pointing at the covered mirror. 

And― and Catra is tired, really, of not being able to see herself. Maybe now, here, with Adora, she can try and recognize her own self again― make a new version of her that, for once, she actually likes.

“Yeah.” 

The silky fabric falls on the floor. Catra raises her eyebrows lightly, staring at her reflection. She’s not close to it, but still, she can see the new haircut, rough edges, and Adora’s soft gaze on her as well. Her face looks so,  _ so  _ different without her headpiece, but for once she doesn’t feel like something destined to die on the Horde.

It feels like exploding inside her own body.

Catra stands up, looking away from the mirror. Adora looks at her, almost confused, and it’s so familiar she can almost pretend this is the Fright Zone again, they just got out of training and Adora is looking at her, wondering why she is so  _ quiet  _ today― something that wouldn’t be a problem anymore once Catra leaned and kissed her but― 

But this is not the Fright Zone, and Catra doesn’t want it to be. Not when she can feel the start of something new, something different, something that can actually live for once. 

Catra wants to do a lot of things, she concludes. She wants to run and scream and punch and kiss and born again with another chance. But, for now, she only sits at the edge of her bed and offers Adora a shy grin.

Adora follows.

“Thanks”, Catra says, awkwardly as ever as Adora proceeds to snap her knuckles.

“I’m tired”, she blurts, “of seeing you as an enemy. I don’t think I can’t stand it anymore.”

Catra stops, hands still.

“I’m not your enemy. Not anymore.”

“I know.”

Her shoulders fall.

“I guess I got tired, too.”

Adora firms her grip on the chair, knuckles going white as her eyes fall.

“This is hard. Talking about this, I mean. Bow said it would come easily once I started, but”, she sighs, “it’s still so  _ fucking  _ hard.”

Catra almost chuckles. “What a  _ filthy _ mouth, Adora.” 

Adora glares, and it’s almost the same again, “Oh, shut up. I’m  _ trying _ to say it here, okay?”

“What are you trying to say it, then?”

Catra thinks she sees it― the moment where Adora’s eyes break, just like her sword, and Catra is left to stare at the smithereens of what once was the Adora that she knew, that she loved and that hated her. There’s no more room for it now.

“That I see now things that I didn’t before. I couldn’t― I couldn’t understand why you were hurting so bad when you could simply come with m―”

“But I  _ couldn’t.” _

“ _ Yes,  _ and I know it now. And I... I’m sorry for all the things, before, and after, and for making you feel like you were just a sidekick. I didn’t― we were a team, and I never thought that I was making you feel like less than you were the entire time.”

Catra stiffens, now, words on her stomach and throat and mouth and the floor before she can see it. “We were a team, but you still went in alone. And never got back.”

“It wasn’t― All my life, it was about being a soldier, about the Horde, nothing ever was about  _ me.  _ And then, something leading to a life that’s more than being a soldier and I just…”, she sighs, “I just went for it. I never wanted to leave you, Catra. I didn’t want you to think that I would just  _ leave  _ you like that.”

The room is tense now, every move calculated. “You kinda  _ did _ . And I’m not hurting like before, but still. Look, I know about the things I did. I’m not stupid enough to believe that the Horde was anywhere near a good place, but I had you, and you had me and when you left, it got me thinking if I ever was to you what you were to me.”

“You were,” Adora’s voice trembles. “You  _ are _ , still, so much more than I can even think of, and― It hurt so  _ much,  _ seeing what she would do to you, but I didn’t see it any other way, and you have to understand that it wasn’t because you were just  _ there. _ ”

“Well, what did you expect me to think? I was  _ always  _ second best, I tried, and I tried, and I made plans and strategies and at the end of the day you were the special one, and then you go out one night, you see some stuff being made to other people, and you defect? And I’m supposed to pretend that it didn’t break my heart that you never truly saw what they were doing to me? Repeatedly asking me to go with you, over an―”

“I did all of that because I  _ love  _ you, you idiot. But I didn’t  _ know  _ how much more I could do, everything was blurred and you  _ know _ that. I never tried to bring you to the Rebellion so you could follow me wherever I went, but because I couldn’t stand  _ not  _ being with you.”

Catra’s shoulders fall.  _ Love.  _ The L word, the forbidden words, whispered in the Fright Zone between the other cadets. She remembers when she first came to the Fright Zone, small, scared, and this kid with a stupid ponytail held her hand and never let it go anymore. Love, the word for what she felt when she first kissed Adora in the barracks, late at night when they were fifteen. She stays still.

“But when I came―”

“You fucked up, Catra.  _ I  _ fucked up. For Etheria’s sake,  _ everybody  _ on this castle fucked up, and I― I wasn’t, I’m  _ not  _ She Ra anymore, I can’t do half of the things I did before. I had to get used to being without you, because you were my enemy, and now you’re here, and I just―”

“ _ Yeah _ .”

“I was trying to wrap my head around it. Around you being  _ here _ , after  _ everything _ .” She exhales, shoulders down while she looks at the window. “You  _ know  _ that things didn’t start when I defected. You know it. Even if I hadn’t left, you  _ know _ we wouldn’t have been happy. It wouldn’t matter if you were in every mission with me, if I truly stood up against her, because you would still be hurting, in this place, and I would be too. And we would be over, with no going back.”

“And aren’t we, Adora?” She pleads, almost, ears down. “Over?  _ Look  _ at this.”

It hurts to say, after everything, after trying  _ so hard _ to believe there was hope for them. But she looks at them now, and she can almost see the mirror reflecting Adora, head on her hands, and Catra, standing, heart on the floor, and it’s too  _ much. _ It tastes bitter in her mouth.

“I don’t want it to be. I don’t want to hate you. I’m trying really fucking hard not to, you gotta believe me.” 

Catra shrugs.

“I don’t want you to hate me either. I― I, it just hurt so  _ much. _ It still does,.”

“I know.” 

“I’m trying hard, too.”

“I know.”

Adora looks at Catra, sitting next to her, now. They’re closer than they have ever been in a year without trying to rip each other’s throat. And― it’s instinct. She turns, facing Catra and leans in.

“I want to kiss you now― I really do.” 

_ Love, as in a promise.  _

Catra flushes, heat spreading until her collarbones, and suddenly, she’s in the Fright Zone again, fifteen years old, hiding in all of their secret spots, Adora just  _ saying  _ stuff and Catra doing her best not to  _ swoon. _ Suddenly, nothing’s changed, because that’s Adora, and she’s still Catra, and they will always find each other and make it work.

She presses their foreheads together.

“Why don’t you, then?”

“I wanna do it right.”

And Catra almost  _ laughs. _

“The fuck that means, you nerd?”

“It means we’re trying.”

Adora lets her lips touch Catra’s forehead, and she is  _ gone.  _

“It’s funny. I always thought I would  _ love  _ ruling the world, that it was the dream, you know? But then I got it and I never― you never really wanted it, did you?”

A negative nod. “I just wanted to be with you, I guess. Anywhere, as long as we were together.”

“It took me a while, but in the end”, she looks up at Adora, eyes meeting, “I didn’t want the world. I only wanted you.”

Here, chest open, Adora’s name carved on her bones and organs and veins and  _ everywhere, _ she exhales, heavy, and Adora hugs her, tight, as in a promise, again. One they’re trying, and trying, and trying.

(Adora doesn’t kiss her on the lips. Instead, she holds onto Catra for as long as her body can physically stand, and, at the end, when her limbs are weak, they slip into the bed and Catra sleeps with Adora’s arm around her waist, face pressed to Adora’s chest. Scorpia doesn’t come back, and Catra doesn’t have any nightmares.) 

* * *

Maybe Adora really was the missing piece, after all. Here, three days after their talk, Adora’s at the opposite side of the table, again. But they don’t stand as enemies, no. This time, Adora grins at her, and Bow shots her a confused look. Catra grins back, and even if they’re on a war meeting, talking about Horde Prime’s strategies, Catra feels herself light on her own body, knowing that they’re on the same side, finally.

When the meeting ends, Adora intertwines their fingers and crossed the corridor. She doesn’t let go, not when Scorpia makes a surprised noise when Perfuma smiles, and Mermista lets out a bicker, not when they’re at the dining room, again. She doesn’t let go, not anymore, and Catra loves every second of it. 

* * *

It comes in an evening. Catra is sprawled on the patio, sword in one shaky hand, sweat dripping all over her body while Adora stares, ready for another one. They were fighting, yes, but it is training and being like this, open, trying, being  _ okay  _ with one another, it’s the most relaxed she ever been in nineteen years, but maybe that was it― relaxing, forgetting, even for a moment, the situation they’re in, the imminent war and the traitors standing beside Bright Moon’s roof.

Not herself, this time.

Bow bursts in and is out on the garden in no time. 

“What do you mean she’s been keeping in touch with Prime?” Adora blurts, urgent as they cross the enormous yard, her dagger in hands.

“I don’t really know how she did it.”

Catra runs so fast her feet may bleed, head pounding on her chest, a bright light above the starry sky― the same that appeared the night that changed her, forever.

Shadow Weaver in the middle of it.

“Don’t go anywhere  _ near  _ her!”, Glimmer screams, staff pointed at the sorceress. “Or you will be taken alongside her.”

In the eye of the hurricane, Shadow Weaver’s eyes smile. She looks at Adora, and then at Catra,  _ together _ , and she is no longer smiling, but her tone is cutting, rotten, dirty.

“Look who decided to show up. Someone is ready to be abandoned  _ again _ .” 

Adora lunges forward, but Catra stops her, mouth shut. She is not getting Shadow Weaver the benefit of hearing an answer from her, not now, not when she finally can see herself free from the sharp words she heard all of her life. She’s ready to fight, to stand, but she’s not ready for Shadow Weaver to step up, hands moving and then Catra’s on the  _ air _ , stuck, arms burning like so, so many nights on the Horde. She screams, but it sounds like a cry.

“You can still come with me, Catra”, she says, “You have  _ potential,  _ all the universe will be at your feet.”

“You can go fuc―”

“I know you’re rotten inside, child, just like I am.”

She doesn’t see it, eyes red with anger and  _ hurt,  _ even after so long. She doesn’t see Bow’s shooting, and arrow across Shadow Weaver’s arm and then light consuming everything, eating Shadow Weaver’s weak body until there’s nothing left― until there isn’t anything on the sky anymore, only starts blinking at Catra, still on her knees, breathing heavily.

She doesn’t really see anything after that. 

* * *

Catra doesn’t know how she got to Adora’s room. The only things she knows are that Adora’s got a firm grip on her waist, Scorpia’s voice right behind her and that Shadow Weaver is gone. When she opens her eyes, really opens her eyes, she’s not on the infirmary, but on Adora’s bedroom, on her bed, Adora’s hand on her cheek, eyes soft.

“Hey,” she says. “You’re okay.”

Catra sits on her elbows, mouth dry out of sudden.

Adora’s room is different from what she knew in the Horde, and tremendously like Adora, she concludes. Even with the pink walls, cushions, Catra can see maps, daggers, swords, and a hint of the Adora she’s still getting to know.

“Is she gone for good?”, she asks.

Adora bites her lips, considers. “I think that’s the max that we will ever have of her being gone.”

She can only nod. Then, when her heart is still beating like the chest was too small for it, Adora takes her hand and leads her to the bathroom. She is almost surprised to see that the bathtub is already full, bottles of nice smells, and all around it. Adora turns around when Catra strips of her dirty clothes even though she doesn’t need it― she knows Adora’s seen it before. She takes it off carefully, like, once she stands naked and vulnerable, her whole body would collapse on the floor and dissolve itself on the hot water. She braces herself tightly, stepping into the tub while Adora kneels to stand beside her.

Catra exhales, feeling her body compose around the warm water and Adora’s gentle fingers. She’s delicate, so delicate it almost feels as if she’s not really touching Catra, like a ghost. She washes over her back, the dirt on her knees, then her hair, combing it carefully. And Catra lets it. Lets herself be vulnerable, lets herself be bathed, and taken care of and  _ loved _ . She doesn’t mind the time they spend here. Doesn’t mind when her fingers wrinkle and the water is no longer warm, because Adora’s still here, lips on her shoulder, and it feels like home.

When she steps out, Adora offers a towel and then turns around again. On the table next to the bathtub, there’s a pile of soft clothing, that could only be picked by Scorpia, and her heart gets a little bit warmer at the thought. She steps into the silk shorts and then the blouse, and it’s a little bit big on her and a little bit too pastel, but she kinda likes it, anyway.

Adora is waiting for her at her bed, legs crossed. 

“Are you feeling better?”

Catra nods. “Yeah. I just didn’t expect her to say that.”

“You’re not rotten. You know that, right?”

Adora has a big mirror next to her bed now. It’s impossible for Catra to not look, so she does. The clothes  _ are _ a little bit big on her, that’s a fact. But there’s something different, that, at first the can’t quite grasp, but then it is right there. This Catra, the one that lets herself be loved, is someone she didn’t know, and someone she can’t wait to love. Here, Catra lets herself relax her body, knowing that Shadow Weaver is far gone now. Maybe not forever. Maybe not for only a short period, but, although her words hurt, Catra knows they’re not true. She saw herself, she rebuilt herself, and she gained back the trust of the people that she loved in the midst of it. 

She doesn’t step away from her reflection now. Instead, she almost smiles.

Adora appears then, arms around her and soft lips to her cheek. When her eyes travel to the mirror, Catra  _ blushes _ , but she pretends that she didn’t because she still has a reputation outside this room. But Adora lets out a sweet laugh and there’s no hiding anymore. So she turns, slowly, nose bumping with Adora’s, eyes locked. Her voice is small when she asks.

“When is it time to do it right?”

Adora widens her eyes, but she doesn’t answer. And it’s slow, and Catra kinda likes it, leaning carefully into Adora’s touch at her cheek. Adora kisses her wrist, first, just a quick peck and Catra shivers. She leans it carefully, lips searching for Adora’s, and, when they meet, is tender in a way that could cut her open if it wanted to. But, no, Adora is delicate, gentle, holding onto her for never letting go, ever again.

When they break apart, Adora has a  _ stupid  _ grin all over her face.

“What are you looking at?”, Catra asks.

She feels the chuckle. “You,  _ idiot.  _ I’m always looking at you.”

Catra doesn’t have time to mutter anything before they’re kissing again, and, this time, is  _ right.  _

(Turns out that kissing someone in the right way is not something that goes by quickly, but Adora is not in a hurry. And, after everything, neither is Catra.) 

**Author's Note:**

> find me at  
> [tumblr](http://%20angelselectric.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/catriadora) ♡


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